


Be still, oh warrior heart

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: Your fight is done.You can rest at last.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Be still, oh warrior heart

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

Gone are the days he could sleep in until noon, wake up and still feel tired. Gone are the days he could whine "5 more minutes", burrito into the quilt, and turn it into 5 hours. Gone are the days of his crash and burn, exhaustion a lead weight 'round wrists and ankles and keeping him chained to the bed.

He's a light sleeper now, a necessity beaten into him with the creeping shadows and advancing daemons. Safety ripped from under him when the magic in Havens ran dry, the frantic scramble for his belongings and his life. Lessons learned in the stifling darkness are not easy to break, impossible in the space of one night when the promise of sunrise is so fragile. He wakes the moment fingers touch his skin, but he pauses, breath drawn in on a hiss. _Just_ fingers, not claws, meandering up his back and across his shoulders. In their travel - the map of his scars, the mementos of battles hard fought and almost lost. Testament to his carelessness, and also his stubborn refusal to give up and die.

He isn't who he once was, his body isn't the same, its story now one of hardship and pain.

Does Noctis recognise him like this, or does he see a stranger with more scar than skin? And still the gentle touch, so rare a gift to be almost forgotten, learning all there is to know, asking questions with every path taken. _What caused this mark? And this one? And that one?_

Hand between his shoulderblades, palm heavy and fingers splayed, so _warm_ where he is cold. Not in the literal sense - the crackle of fire and magic takes care of that - but deep to the bone, the core. As if Shiva kissed him and ripped the sun from his soul. Not all that far from the truth, is it? The Astrals are one and the same at the end of the day: meddlesome and tyrannical assholes -

A whisper. A breath. The sound of his name in a voice lost to the years, rough and wrecked with disuse.

What a fool he is, to doubt. Of course Noctis sees beyond a face too pale and eyes too shadowed, too haunted. So much has changed and yet this - _hasn't_. This stolen moment. This treasured bliss, body pressed to his side and nose in his hair. A silent request he can never deny and he turns, bones and springs creaking in protest.

Tender and aching, the loneliness between them, banished just as space is, ten years of heartbreak caught in a kiss, and another, and another. _Oh -_

"I've missed you, Prompto."

"I've missed you, too."

Raw, unguarded, so different, still the same. And through the curtains they never bothered to close - _sunlight_ , glorious and golden.

They're home.


End file.
